


A Desert Rose

by cubbiebunkie



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubbiebunkie/pseuds/cubbiebunkie
Summary: Logan takes a shower. A ficlet.
Relationships: Aaron Echolls & Logan Echolls, Logan Echolls & Lynn Echolls
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	A Desert Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bloom](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/614200) by StarCrossdSparrow. 



> This is another heavy edit. This time with a short, simple, and lovely work from StarCrossdSparrow that I archived on FF over a decade ago. Though imperfect, may it stand in testament and celebration to the original author's striking, emotive prose.

_______________________________

The white lather covers the purple bruise on his shoulder and just as quickly, the shower’s spray reveals it again. If he turns his head far enough to the right, the mark is just in his sight.

It was roughly the size of a fist. Or a baseball.

He could make up the necessary story, if he needed to.

Dark purple at the center, banded with deeper -- almost black -- hues, and toward the edges, a little yellow green. It amazed him that all those colors could bloom on his skin, which otherwise was a barren wasteland of sand colored flesh. Like a flower in the desert.

His mother always called them “black and blue.” But there was no black on him. He was a rainbow of mistakes and misdeeds. The blue? Well that color ran through his veins. Yearning for oxygen and filthy rich. A family tree with roots that dug deep into the graves of knights and lords, criminals and murderers.

But this particular mark was more purple. Purple like the color of royalty. The Echolls Palace held a mighty throne.

The hot spray had beaten his skin into submission, taking his wet tan to a violent, vicious red. Red convening on purple. Blood on a crown. He chuckled to himself as he shut off the water.

Stepping out onto cold tile, dripping water everywhere with little regard, he dries himself as he goes, tossing the damp towel on the carpet. Pulling on his boxer briefs, throwing on a plain white tee, the bruise is no longer in sight. But he knows it’s there. Purple and angry. Green-yellow and sick.

Next, the pressed white dress shirt. Perfectly tailored suit pants. He tucks, buttons, zips. Socks, Shoes, Tie. And finally, the designer jacket, black. Now there’s black on him. Yellow and green on the tie. Blue in his veins. And a hidden purple that regardless, trumps all the other colors.

Logan considers his reflection in the mirror. The crisp lines of the suit. His still damp hair. The noose of his tie. That ugly purple bruise, the size of a fist. Or a baseball. Logan could make up all the necessary lies, like he always had.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, criticisms, questions, and the like are accepted and appreciated.


End file.
